Monthly Archives: April 2016

I am sitting in Starbucks without the benefit of my aluminum foil hat.

And, evidently, I REALLY need one.

Because the zombie apocalypse is off the table, only to be replaced by CRAZY MOTHERFUCKERS.

It all started with the lizards.

Lizards, now don’t quote me here, are running everything.

I came in late, middle of the conversation, so I can only report what I managed to piece together.

The lizards run everything behind the scenes, like a shadow government. Politicians, the authorities, and the Jews that run Hollywood, are all under their thumb.

The lizards are out to kill people and reduce the world populations. They are doing this thru a variety of different evil plans.

The lizards are cannibals, and eat people. (Technical point here. Lizards, being a different species, are not eating their own people, just us. So they are not cannibals, just predators.)

The lizards are a clever bunch, from the sounds of it.

Their main method of culling the human population?

Cancer causing toilet paper.

I may just shit myself at the hysterical craziness of it all. (But I am afraid to wipe my ass at this point. I would use newspaper but I am afraid the ink will transfer words onto my ass cheeks like when you press Silly Putty onto newsprint. I know how crazy this sounds, but serious insanity can be passed like a mental STD without the availability of penicillin. Mind your own business.)

The whole presentation is a macabre little bit of theater.

The main authority on Lizards and their vile activities is a bald guy with a sweaty head in an air conditioned room that we will call Mad Hatter. I chose that name because it really captures the crazed glint in his eyes.

His sidekick has yet to say an actual word. He just grunts in agreement or makes a derisive snort of disbelief. He is a non=speaking hype-man for this performance. We will call him Grunt.

Mad Hatter seems to have an issue with his coffee.

Prior to every sip, he peers thru the drink hole in his cup, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

What’s he looking for?

What will suddenly be there before that next sip that wasn’t there before the last one?

I am a huge believer in individual rights and I am against the state having too much power…..but-

I would be ok with them putting these two creepy sum-bitches down for the greater good.

Harsh times, harsh solutions, good coffee.

And coffee can make it all better.

Ok, I will relent, lets let the boys live, I am feeling benevolent.

Can you tell that my coffee cooled down enough to drink a few lines ago?

Thats how it goes, life is dire and scary without proper coffee.

Mad Hatter and Grunt are still batshit crazy, but they are not my problem.

But, and this is important, they are SOMEBODIES problem.

There is someone, somewhere, that is stuck with these paranoid shitbags.

God forbid, a wife somewhere.

The poor woman must drink, that is the only way I can see her getting thru her day.

Drinking and plotting his death.

Not sure what it is about the boys that brings out the dark and evil here, but it keeps coming up.

I mean, we all saw Old Yeller as kids and everyone cried their eyes out.

But you have to do it, but its wrong.

You have me in a box here.

Let me think about it before I call the authorities to euthanize Mad Hatter and Grunt.

(Just watched the ending of Old Yeller on Youtube, made me tear up, even decades later.)

While I am contemplating, Mad Hatter just ponied up that the President and most of Congress are really lizards.

That would actually explain a lot.

A new idea has popped into my head.

With the right amount of prodding, Mad Hatter and Grunt are just the men America needs to take care of the lizards.

Grown women who loudly proclaim to be “Sick of the drama” but always seem to be hip deep in drama.

Its like they never left high school.

They live on Facebook for the most part.

Well over 50% of their posts are motivational posters proclaiming variations on the two main themes of:

How a “Real Man” will treat them.

How a “True Friend” will treat them.

Lets tackle “Real Man” first.

First off, anyone born with testicles is a real man, as opposed to what you might identify with. (I mean, I identify with being an asshole, but the concept of a human sized sphincter walking around is both scary and the science doesn’t support it.)

To loosely translate, paraphrase it, or just be the first person to say this shit out loud, the person posting this stuff has had really bad taste in men in the past and has not learned from their mistakes.

Does anyone have an ounce of shock left at the thought that a “Bad boy” who is dangerous and likes to party is not the odds on favorite for being a kind and supportive partner?

The sad reality of it is that the boring, consistent, “nice” guy that you don’t want is exactly the guy you claim to want.

Same message, said nicely and said mean:

Figure out what you need from a long term relationship and don’t settle.

Or…

If you are tired of being screwed over by the bad boys, quit screwing the bad boys.

(ADD sidebar: Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls is possibly one of the better love songs from the 80’s.)

Before you snort derisively and read on, go back and soak up those two little bits of advice.

Let the wisdom permeate your head.

Got it? Good. I think we are all better people now.

If those lines really hit home for you, don’t worry, I will feed you, baby bird.

(By the way, the line about screwing the bad boys actually got me hung up on by a female acquaintance who decided that I might be a sympathetic shoulder one night. Truth can be a bitch, people.)

Now for the whole friends illusion.

Here is a really sad truth.

The only true, life long friends you will have are the people that you grew up with.

Everyone else you meet after puberty are simply acquaintances that will show up and leave without warning.

This is not to belittle their temporary friendship, not at all.

But unless you have an emotional foundation that is based on the sentimental attachment formed before experience forces reason down your throat, you don’t have a chance in hell of putting up with someone you are not married or screwing (Sometimes mutually exclusive).

So whining and crying that someone you have known for less than a year as a legal adult has suddenly done something that was for themselves and inconvenienced you is kind of silly.

Adults have agendas and baggage, and those two things kind of make your agenda 3 on that list in their mind.

Not their fault, you are doing the same thing, but in your head, you like to think you don’t.

Much like sleeping in, its awesome, right up until everything goes South and the situation turns on you like prison rape, uncomfortable leaving a lingering awkwardness.

And that brings us to this morning.

The blog, when I am being diligent and writing it ahead of time, is usually scheduled to post at 0500 Pacific time every Friday.

Unless I have Friday off, then I write it on the fly while at my favorite breakfast spot.

So what happened today?

Me, is what happened today.

I am not seated in my favorite breakfast spot, I am at work, just barely 15 minutes early, desperately pounding out words for you ungrateful bastards.

Speak of the devil and he appears, my phone just buzzed with a text from one of the blog devoted.

“No blog today? You lazy fuck.”

Not to turn this into an angry backlash, but when was the last time any of you whiny bitches scribbled anything other than a complaint for me?

And lets get one thing straight, I do not work for you.

You did not pay for this.

I did not take your sister to prom and do barnyard shit to her. (Although I probably know who did.)

And while people only value what they pay for, they piss and moan like old women about free stuff.

The sick sadistic side of this is that there is an evil side of me that does enjoy making people upset.

I have crawled around on the inside of my own head long enough to know that I am at peace with my inner asshole, that it really doesn’t spill out into the rest of my life in a detrimental way, and therefore I like to encourage the little guy.

Now, true, he is a little spoiled, my inner asshole is, and tends to be disruptive, but he is mine, therefore, I am of the opinion that he is brilliant and beautiful.

A lot of people don’t get it because they don’t have one of their own.

As a society, we have been systematically beating down our own asshole urges to the point that it only comes out under extreme stress or is alcohol induced.

And that is never pretty.

The repressed asshole is an over the top diva, that once she makes her entrance, all hell breaks loose.

Bar fights, pregnancies, STD’s, lost jobs, and family feuds, all are possible when dealing with the repressed asshole.

So take a tip from me, I started taking my IA (Inner Asshole) out for some quality time, just the two of us, back when I first started this blog.

Liberating is a word that comes to mind, so does indulgent, but cathartic is there also.

“You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the one who’ll decide where to go…” ― Dr. Seuss, Oh, The Places You’ll Go!

Dr. Seuss forgot one part.

Unless of course, you get a snoot full of meth.

Its not as flowery or even comes close to rhyming like the legendary prose of the good doctor, but there is a nasty little snatch of truth in it.

So why am I trotting out the wraith of Seuss?

Because the tv show Cops is real.

Let me explain.

I got a an activity tracker a few months ago.

It has gotten me into the guilty habit of coming to the end of my day, realizing that I have not done anything for my health, made me feel bad that I refuse to go jogging, so I go on 5-10 mile walks.

But where do you walk to, you ask?

Somewhere to write. I pick Starbucks that are a good stretch of the legs and hit the road.

And it worked.

In a couple of months, I have logged 1 million steps.

What does that have to do with Dr. Seuss?

Be patient, I am getting there.

I also suffer from ADD.

I get bored easy, so going to the same Starbucks all the time goes stale pretty quick.

Which leads us to today.

I have been walking for over an hour and I am now less than a mile from my chosen destination.

And I am sitting at the side of the road on a low wall watching the decay of modern society.

The cameras are not here, but this is an episode of Cops, I am sure of it.

Mom is in a bathrobe, chain smoking and alternating between screaming at the cops and crying and trying to comfort Joey. (Not my mom, of course. She stopped smoking decades ago, and you could not get her outside in a bathrobe without makeup unless you put a gun to her head. Even then, she may just take the bullet, mom likes things just so.)

Back to Joey.

Joey, is her little pride and joy.

At least, he was about 25 years ago, now he is a drugged out mullet wearing handcuffs and sweating like he is in a sauna.

And if you really wanted to wrestle with the police, why would you wait until you are handcuffed and surrounded.

Joey loves a challenge, evidently.

I really love police dogs.

They are almost always German Shepherds, one of my top 3 favorite breeds. (The other 2 are Irish WolfHound’s and Shih tzu’s)

The police dog is really wanting in on the fun here, but he is being barely restrained by a large cop no doubt with a heart of gold.

[[ADD SIDEBAR]] The Starbucks I am in stopped playing self indulgent Lillithfair crap music and played a 4 pack of Run DMC. They were the shit. [[END]]

Where was I?

Ah, my disappointment that there was no meth head mauling by the big puppy.

Now, you can screech at me all you like about this next line, but you are still wrong.

Joey did this to himself.

Meth and ignorance are a personal choice.

You’re goddam right I said it.

Its a disease, you whine.

Polio is a disease.

Meth is a personal choice made up of equal parts ignorance, lack of faith (In God and self) and poor parenting.

Personally I feel there is a lack of Irish genealogy here, but I cannot find the science to back that up.

“Are you happy now, mom?!?!” Joey yelled this as he was leaning across the hood of the patrol for the pat down.

Let me answer for mom.

No, no she isn’t, probably hasn’t been happy for a long time.

I read somewhere, “At any moment before you enter the gates of hell, you can change your luck.”

I have always felt there was a part of that missing.

You can change your luck, but only if you know you can.

I am going to jump out on a limb here and say that mom and Joey have no clue.

But despite my love of over-hyped hysteria concerning evil odd numbered days, it has always been a little disappointing.

No one has ever played a trick on me.

And I don’t know anyone who has ever had a trick played on them on this day.

So who has been lying to us?

Let me be the first to throw Hallmark under the bus.

If it were not for the makers of those over-priced shit scribbles, there is a whole slew of days none of us would give two shits in hell about.

But we do.

I got an April Fool’s day card in the mail yesterday.

I would tell you the absolutely crappy joke involved, but I am afraid that it would spread like a mental Ebola of the weak minded.

Suffice to say that it was a joke that could not produce a laugh, just a groan.

The pun version of being fisted, awkward and a little painful.

Perhaps a touch harsh for those reading this in the early morning, but I want everyone’s mind in the same place, a baseline, if you will.

You have to wonder what kind of mind chooses to make “Greeting” cards for a living.

The normal “Greeting” card writer has a personality profile that reads a lot like a child molester.

Trust me, writing this blog makes me practically an FBI profiler.

The creation of these false holidays, invented to sell expensive folded paper to the simple minded.

Why is the biggest question that no one seems to ask.

Why should we care about April Fool’s Day at all?

Because we are human, and stupid, but human is the main part of that answer.

We are made up of equal parts stupidity, superstition, fear and lust.

Superstition is first of the four.

Especially in the USA, we have people from all over the world, a bigger diversity melting pot than any other country in the world.

And that is a lot of superstition.

Consider it a tribute to modern times that most of the nastier traditions of our superstitious holidays have dropped away.

No animals are killed, nobody gets hurt, and no old grannies will throw the goat horns at you.

(Personally, if you have never had an old granny throw the goat horns at you and mutter in Romanian under her breath, then spit at you, you have no idea what are missing. I once dated a Romanian girl. Beautiful girl, vile grandmother.)

The interesting thing about April Fool’s Day is that anything important happens short of death today, and most people will wonder if it is a prank.